Okay folks, you asked for it, you got it. Thank you to all who read and especially to those who give feedback. The rest of the author's notes are at the end this time.
Secrets and Sacrifices
Part 38
It's a little tricky getting Harm onto the Lear; the jet just wasn't made with the thought of being used to transport injured parties. Despite the close quarters, Standes, Mitchell, Gary and the Osprey crew manage to get everything transferred by the time Keeter is finished obtaining clearance to take off. He is startled when Gary joins him in the cockpit; the presence of his former instructor, in civilian attire and looking a little worse for wear, causing all sorts of questions to take up residence in his mind, eager for the chance to be asked. Understanding from the request for the fastest aircraft available that they don't have any time to spare, Keeter resolutely squelches the urge to grill Gary while he concentrates on getting the jet in the air.
Gary knows what will be coming once they're at cruising altitude; he chooses to make a preemptive strike just before Keeter opens his mouth to speak. "It's a bit crowded back there," he explains his presence, leaving out the fact that he is glad that's the case because it gives him a valid excuse to gain just a little bit of distance from the past couple of days. "I hope you don't mind if I join you up here."
"What are you doing here, sir? I mean you told me why you're up here, but why are you here at all?" Keeter asks, flustered.
"We work for the same employer now, no need to call me 'sir'," Gary advises the younger man. "And as for why I'm here…I guess you could say I was in the right place at the wrong time."
"Is this an operation gone wrong?" His instincts tell him it's highly unlikely—why would a CIA operation be using Navy bases and Marine equipment and personnel?—and that doesn't even begin to explain the Ranger.
"Ended sooner than expected, maybe, but not gone wrong. Have you been listening to the news in the past few days?"
"I pulled one too many black ops while I was still in the Navy; the CIA took me in when I could no longer fly off carriers. Now, I ferry our bosses around—and before you say it, I'm sure this isn't going to go over too well with the one I just left back there. So in answer to your question, I tend to isolate myself from what goes on in the world." He glances over at his former instructor. "I've been doing this for years, and it still gets me that I can't do more for my country."
Gary understands immediately where he's coming from, and he knows one of their passengers feels—or at least felt—the same way at one time. "Your passengers don't ever let anything slip?" he queries, earning a self-depreciating smirk from the man flying the plane.
"I learned when I started this job how to filter everything but what I need to hear for the assignment from any conversation going on. For the past week and a half it's just been two of us, and he generally doesn't talk to himself." The expression on Gary's face stirs the curiosity Keeter's long since buried and raises a bit of apprehension along with it. "What's been going on that I should know about?"
For some reason, Gary is now loathe to drag Keeter back into a world he's tried so hard to leave behind. He debates with himself for a few minutes before he decides it's necessary to break the former aviator's self-imposed distance from the real world. "Well, I'm going to have to make some assumptions here, but you probably don't keep in touch with any of your former friends either, do you?"
"What's the point? They're still doing what I wish I was doing," Keeter answers morosely.
"I know of at least one who isn't; what about him?"
"Harm still flies." Gary gives Keeter a sharp look. "Okay, so I didn't completely close myself off from the world when I left the Navy. I heard about the stunt he pulled on the Seahawk; I even talked to him several times after that. But one day he stopped returning my calls; I couldn't reach him at home or work, so I figured he'd found out about my leaving the Navy and decided I didn't fit into his world any more." Keeter is bitter, believing the one friend he thought he could count on to understand would cast him aside.
"And that's why you cut yourself off from everything?" Gary shakes his head, wondering why he's even contemplating getting into this when he could just keep his mouth shut. "You never thought there might be a reason behind his silence other than wanting to disassociate himself from you?"
Keeter shrugs, refusing to say another word on the matter. "What's the story with the guy back there?" he asks to change the subject.
"Several days ago a pilot was forced down and captured by a terrorist; the same terrorist I was assigned to in order to gather information on his organization."
"Better you than me," Keeter comments to himself, too low for Gary to catch. "Was he injured trying to find this pilot or something?"
Gary's glad Keeter wasn't this slow in flight school. "Actually, he is the pilot."
Keeter glances back into the cabin, obviously confused. "They look like they're military, which brings me back to the question I asked earlier; why are you here?"
Gary hits the highlights of the rescue, explaining that because Sadik is still at large, it was deemed necessary to get his target back to the States as soon as possible. Keeter ponders the information while making a few minute adjustments to their heading. "You asked me about my flying buddies because this guy is one of them," he deduces, making it a statement, not a question. Gary's nod of confirmation goes unnoticed as Keeter works the rest out. "You seemed especially concerned about my contact with Harm, so I'd have to guess he's the one back there." For a very brief moment the urge to see his friend for himself flares to the surface, but it's quickly extinguished under a flood of anger.
"Why are you so certain he was avoiding you?" Gary asks, noticing the brief conflict.
"We had been planning on getting together on a weekend I was going to be in town. I called several days ahead of time to confirm our plans; I got his answering machine at home, his voice mail on his cell and a nervous sounding Petty Officer at the office telling me he wasn't available. I kept trying for a couple of weeks after that. The last time I tried, his cell phone was disconnected, I didn't even get his answering machine at home and the same Petty Officer told me he didn't work at the office any more. I figured he'd gotten tired or irritated with me trying to get hold of him and made sure I couldn't reach him. The only strange thing was she didn't even ask who was calling; she just told me he wasn't there any more."
Gary wrestles with his conscience, debating on whether he should do what he's contemplating. A flashback to the look on Harm's face when he told about meeting his former coworkers on the Reprisal decides it for him. "I'm probably going to be violating a confidence here, but I think you need to know what I do. Unless I'm way off base, Harm didn't deliberately avoid your calls at all; he was in the brig, accused of murdering a coworker. The man who framed him, also someone he used to work with, did such a good job of it—coupled, Harm admitted to me, with him trying to protect his brother—that he was very close to going to prison for the crime. I can't say for sure why he didn't contact you when he got out of the brig, but not too long after he was released, he went after Colonel MacKenzie, who was on a CIA mission that got compromised. Upon returning from that one, he got roped into a new career path and left without a word to anyone. The terrorist who was holding him is the same one he saved Colonel MacKenzie from, and one he's run into several times since he was forced to leave JAG and take a new name. He had actually just been appointed to a new position with JAG when he was asked to fly this last mission.
"I, too, was angry at him for some time because I couldn't fathom how he could so easily throw away our friendship; it never really occurred to me that I was the one who closed that door. I suppose what hurt the worst was that he didn't come to me with his suspicions, he aired them in court where he enabled me to make a fool of myself. I'm not blinded now to know that if he'd brought his suspicions to me back then I would have dismissed them without even once thinking they might have merit. Had he been most anyone else I know, when he saw me working for the terrorist that had just captured him he wouldn't have given me a chance to explain—being the man he is, he did give me a chance. I don't blame him for being skeptical at first. All I'm suggesting is that you give him a chance to explain his side of the story—but it will have to wait, since he's not conscious."
Questions spin in Keeter's mind, quickly forgotten when they hit a particularly bad patch of turbulence. To this point the flight hasn't been bad, Keeter's been running parallel to a pretty nasty storm, but the minor turbulence they've been experiencing has been easy for him to deal with. The unexpected pocket of major turbulence they encounter dumps the unprepared trio in the cabin onto the floor.
"Give us a warning next time if you can't keep it steady," Mitchell hollers from the passenger cabin.
"Sorry," Keeter mutters, angry at himself for getting distracted. He growls at Gary not to talk to him unless it's directly related to flying the plane and turns his full attention to that task; now that they're heading into the storm they've been skirting, he's going to need to stay focused. He also resolutely pushes down the feelings of guilt at not being completely honest with Gary—Harm had tried to contact him, probably when he'd been released from the brig, but he'd been too angry at what he perceived to be a brush-off to return the call.
xxx
In contrast to the tense conversation in the front of the plane, the corpsman and the medic find they have little need for conversation as they have unconsciously developed their own routine. Once they're again airborne, the two men silently perform the same checks they'd completed just before this round of musical aircraft; the IV is inspected from the bag on down to make sure there are no kinks or holes and the whole thing is still working properly, blood pressure, temperature and pulse are checked and recorded—the fever has dropped .2 degrees—and the bandages are checked for indications they need to be changed sooner than planned, because despite their best efforts, the transfer wasn't as smooth as they had hoped. With all that accomplished, the two sit back to enjoy a bit of the comfort offered by the plush surroundings.
"Never thought I'd get to ride in something like this," Mitchell comments after a while, glancing around at the décor that is a lot more comfortable than your average military transport.
Standes laughs. "Well, I joined the Navy because I don't get along well with heights—I figured that joining the branch that enables people to travel around the world by boat would be the way to go. Little did I know I'd end up with a promising career that would not only mean I'd be flying a lot, but that I'd also occasionally be jumping out of perfectly good aircraft. It's funny in a way; get me up higher than about the second step of a ladder and I'm shaking like a leaf, but give me a pack and tell me to jump out of a plane and I'm completely at ease." He looks around him in awe; this is the VIP jet after all. "It would take a lot of convincing to get me to jump out of this thing, though. Look at it; plush carpet and seats, plenty of light, it's quiet and warm…heck, I could probably fall asleep in here and I never sleep on planes." Mitchell gives him a significant look, prompting Standes to add, "Not that I'm tired now, mind you."
"That's probably a load of bull, but I can understand your reluctance to let him alone with someone you're not completely sure you can trust." Mitchell puts up a hand to forestall any protest. "I don't think it's anything personal; you've been betrayed by someone you trusted and that will make it extremely difficult to trust anyone else in the future. Believe me when I say I'm very grateful—and somewhat astonished—that, instead of throwing us to the wolves, your Commander Duncan is trying to find some way to help us. My team was put together with some of us fresh out of training—we'd never met before and for a while we had a hard time working together. We nearly tanked our first couple of missions and then all of a sudden, we clicked. I think that surprised General Danvers more than our near failures in the beginning. He hadn't paid much attention to us to that point; afterwards we suddenly found ourselves his favorite team. We won that competition our first time out; being beaten this year seems to have once again altered our status with General Danvers—except for this assignment, we've gotten what must be the dregs of the available missions."
"You weren't given any training as a team?" Standes questions.
"No. It was pretty much sink or swim. We started out with six teams; one by one the other teams went through pretty spectacular failures until we were the only ones left. I don't know what happened to the surviving members of those other teams; I never saw any of them around the base after they left on what became their final missions. So how about you guys? What did the Navy do differently?"
"Actually, our teams—mine and the other four formed at the same time—consist of Navy and Marine personnel. We spent a year in training; every member either had to take the training course or pass a proficiency test that allowed them to opt out of the training—except him." He gazes at Harm a little sadly. "It was almost like he wasn't supposed to be too deeply involved, and then suddenly he was not only involved but then he was required to take each and every training course."
"You don't have any idea what changed?"
"The day before we started training Sheffield picked up Jack and Jerry. The rest of us were told training would begin the next day and that we needed to report to Gunnery Sergeant Crockett on the sniper range at 0500. We'd just finished up what Crockett called his qualification course when Sheffield, Jack and Jerry returned with a fourth—and very tired looking—passenger. I think Crockett had instructions that he was to choose two candidates from among those of us he tested; it surprised us all when he announced he was going to train the Captain along with Lieutenant Sharpe. Crockett and Sheffield had a heated conversation when Crockett wouldn't back down. Eventually Sheffield must have given in because they rejoined us and Crockett ordered the Captain to get some rest and be ready to begin the next morning. The rest of us, with the exception of Sharpe, were told we weren't needed and we could either go on liberty or stay and watch the training. Jack and Jerry remained to be spotters and the rest of us decided on liberty. We were recalled from leave earlier than we expected by a once again irate Sheffield. He told us, and I quote 'Commander Post has decided that in order to make up for your late start in training, you will not receive the usual liberty between training sessions. Instead, you will proceed directly from one assignment to the next.' It really wasn't bad for the rest of us; it was very rare that we participated in more than two back to back training courses, so we had liberty when we opted out of training. I don't know how he did it; the Captain had spent the better part of a decade as a JAG—and yet he sailed through all of the training like he'd done it all before."
"He's a lawyer?" Mitchell latches onto that one odd thought.
"Why do you think Commander Duncan is so sure he'll be able to find some way to help you? He worked at JAG Headquarters, under the JAG himself for most of those ten years."
"So how exactly did he get caught in the middle of this mess?"
"Well, he's also a fighter pilot. This one we knew about, at least a bit, because Sheffield would occasionally pull him for a mission or training. Jack and Jerry usually accompanied him on these trips; I don't think even they knew what kind of pilot he was though, or if they did, they never shared it with the rest of us."
"Wow. So he did all these things before signing up as your team leader? I wonder why…" Mitchell trails off, embarrassed to be thinking out loud.
"I don't believe it was an entirely voluntary decision, and I can understand why. I served on carriers for a while and heard his name—his real name, not his cover one—mentioned several times in conjunction with some pretty impressive feats, both as an aviator and a lawyer. I'm not sure it's really sunk in yet that this is the same person who's done so well, not only with our team, but all the teams under his command." Mitchell looks askance at the comment. "Our five teams are all still active; he gives out the assignments, tells each team what they need to improve on, goes through prospective replacements before the individual team leaders get a shot at them and still manages to keep ahead of the rest of us. He has very deep reserves of energy, but I think this time he's pretty much tapped them out."
Both men fall silent in their contemplations of their charge—in the time since they left the carrier his newest bruises have blossomed, hiding all but the tiniest patches of his pale skin. In contrast with the obviously painful condition of his body, Harm hasn't once moved during their journey. This concerns Standes, but only a little because he's been through so much lately—and Silver confided he slipped something to help him relax in with the pain killers. After a time, the two men stir out of their own thoughts to tend to their patient and eventually resume their conversation, this time their topics stray from their jobs, touching on their own personal histories and their favorite places for liberty.
The flight passes quickly in the comfortable cabin. As they complete what they expect to be their last check of their patient's vitals, the aircraft unexpectedly shudders around them and then drops, all the while tilting to one side. Completely unprepared, they grab onto the nearest object, which in Standes' case happens to be the stretcher upon which his CO is lying. A last bump of the aircraft throws Mitchell into both Navy men, sending the three tumbling to the floor. "Give us a warning next time if you can't keep it steady," he yells loudly before helping Standes extricate himself from under the stretcher. They maneuver it back into place as carefully as possible in the small confines of the passenger cabin, being as gentle as circumstances allow.
"Are you all right? You look a little green," Mitchell comments once they have themselves and Harm resituated.
Standes absently shreds the wrapper to one of the gauze pads they used when changing Harm's bandages, "Only if I can convince myself this plane isn't going to fall out of the air," he mutters.
"Why don't I go check on our ETA?" Mitchell suggests. "Just sit back and try to relax; I'll be right back."
xxx
"Sorry about the rough ride," Keeter apologizes as soon as Mitchell pokes his head into the cockpit. "We've been skirting a pretty nasty storm the whole way back; I guess I got a bit too close."
"Are we going to have to go through this storm to land?"
"We're just about ahead of it now. I think you'll have enough time to get Harm to Bethesda before it hits."
Mitchell's about to comment when Standes joins them. "Do you have an ETA yet?" Standes sounds a little panicked.
"Twenty-two minutes, by my calculations," Gary offers. "There's a helo waiting to take the four of us to Bethesda."
"What's wrong?" Mitchell asks.
"His blood pressure's dropping," Standes says quietly. "I think that little patch of turbulence finished what the rolling of the truck started."
The blood drains from Keeter's face. He spares a quick glance at Gary, hoping he's on the same wavelength. "I'll give you two minutes to get everything secured back there; this ride's about to get bumpy."
xxx
Standes and Mitchell waste no time in getting Harm's stretcher moved to the floor; it'll still be bumpy, but at least there won't be any danger of him being tossed there again. The cushions are pulled from the seats and placed against the bottoms of the seats for protection and the bags of supplies are securely belted into the seats to avoid becoming projectiles. Mitchell takes a seat on the floor behind Harm's head; he won't budge when Standes argues that is his responsibility, he simply reminds the CPO that he isn't the one who reacted badly to the last bit of turbulence. That argument seems to work as Standes belts himself into the only seat left and says nothing further.
True to Keeter's prediction, and exactly two minutes after his announcement, the plane begins to jump about. Standes is immediately grateful for Mitchell's forethought; he's concentrating on holding on for dear life just a moment later.
Having declared an emergency and requesting permission to fly a straight approach to the air base, Keeter is doing everything he can to coax just a little more power out of the Lear; the stresses and odd angle into the wind buffeting the plane about. In the copilot's seat, Gary is keeping Andrews informed of their progress and confirming the presence of the helo they've been promised. He also keeps an eye on the instruments, instructing Keeter to make minute adjustments when needed. With the two aviators working in tandem, and their passengers quietly—if not calmly—enduring the less than smooth flight, they manage to shave several minutes off the previously offered ETA, rolling to a stop next to the waiting helo in under 20 minutes.
Keeter watches his passengers make a quick transfer, getting his first glimpse at one of his oldest friends. The still, silent and much abused man little resembles the cocky aviator he remembers from flight school, or even the confident and daring lawyer who rescued him and his plane from Iran. As the group disappears into the helo, he sends up a quick prayer for the friend he can no longer feel anger towards.
xxx
The helo ride is mercifully short. Once they're finally inside the hospital they're met by what almost amounts to a horde of doctors and nurses. Sheffield is there as well, and he pulls Mitchell and a very reluctant Standes aside after they've relayed all pertinent information from the trip to the doctors. "There are going to be plenty of men and women in that room," Sheffield admonishes them. "I need clarification on a couple of matters and then the two of you need to get cleaned up, something decent to eat and a few hours sleep before you return here."
"I promised Commander Duncan I wouldn't let Captain Rabb out of my sight," Standes argues.
Sheffield sweeps his hand around the area where there still seems to be a large amount of people gathered. Standes is about to protest when he realizes there are a couple of very familiar faces in the crowd—members of team 2, who are currently on liberty. "I had dozens of volunteers for anything and everything when word got out who the missing pilot was. Team 2 will go back into the rotation tomorrow, but for now I hope you will agree that they will be much more effective than a single, exhausted corpsman, no matter how determined he is. And yes, I'll be sending the rest of your team after you when they arrive."
"Why aren't you sending him home?" Mitchell asks, pointing to where Gary is being helped into surgical garb.
"I'd like to, but he's needed in case something comes up that needs clarification in there. As soon as they're confident with the knowledge they have, he'll be sent home too."
He won't pretend to like the situation, but Standes acquiesces to Sheffield's wishes after extracting a promise of an immediate phone call should anything go wrong. He and Mitchell leave the hospital with the driver Sheffield tasked to see them to the hotel he'd reserved earlier for the two teams. It's a testament to their fatigue that neither the Seal nor the Ranger notices the car that shadows theirs the short distance to their destination, or the two figures who exit the car when it slides into a parking space.
AN: Once again, I'm sorry for the long interval between updates. In addition to the looming presence of inventory prep the end of this past week, I unfortunately also experienced a couple of medical problems that haven't been letting me get any sleep at night. I am sincerely hoping the next update won't take too long, but it really depends on what curves life decides to throw me in the meantime. Please be as patient as possible—despite the recent news, I fully intend to finish this story. I just need a little more sunshine to chase away the remnants of the clouds that have been an oppressive presence for the last several months.